


Autumn Days

by TonySnark (Sherlocked729)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Consensual, Halloween Costumes, Historical Homosexuality, Homosexuality, I don't know what to tag that, Implied/Referenced Sex, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, historical roleplay?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 04:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16110887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlocked729/pseuds/TonySnark
Summary: What Sherlock hates more than dressing up on Halloween is socializing with others on Halloween at parties. John Watson's able to bribe the detective to do both. One-Shot. A bit of Fall fun.





	Autumn Days

**Author's Note:**

> Just another JohnLock one-shot for the Fall so far. 
> 
> Please comment if you feel compelled to! I appreciate it :)
> 
>  
> 
> "Autumn Days" was one of Lord Alfred Douglas' poems that was published in 1890.

**.     .    .**

Sherlock fingered his Stradivarius with precision as the rain gently tapped gently on the window, his mind thinking about several things at once; his sister who had given him the violin a year ago, John, who would be returning from Tesco any minute, his brother, who he had recently solved an interesting case for, a song that he was currently working on writing, the ongoing experiment of germination of bacteria after death that was in the fridge, and how was trying not think about how much he missed cocaine.

He had gotten so much done while he had been on it in the past as well as in the past three and a half weeks. Sherlock still got a lot done, but he found sleeping and eating a waste of time that could be otherwise spent on working on more cases and putting his skills to good use.

John had given him an ultimatum though; him or the drugs. At first Sherlock didn’t understand so naturally, as he expected any logical person to, he chose cocaine.

_Sentiment is a chemical defect._

A saying his brother never got tired of telling him whenever he mentioned John or Miss Hudson.

He recognized the expression on John Watson’s face one of hurt and possibly confusion. They had expressed equal admiration for each other late one night after a couple glasses of whiskey, but Sherlock had apparently misunderstood the situation.

He didn’t think it was necessary for John to leave. He was perfectly capable of taking cocaine as well as John being around him and enjoying his company. His partner, however, did not see it that way.

Once he had explained the situation to Sherlock and made him realize what would happen, the detective was forced to change his decision, as well as his brother’s hypothesis.

Hypothesis two: Sentiment was a chemical change in the brain that, although could be seen as disadvantageous, was also required for continued companionship, as well as satisfaction.

Sentiment wasn’t a chemical defect like depression was. Depression did not contain any advantages, whatsoever; all of its side effects proved negative in terms of relationships, productivity, and normal body functioning. Sentiment, although proving inconvenient at times, also served a purpose in all of these factors.

He closed his eyes, matching the tones of each string perfectly with the timing as he played. He finished just as he heard the door close quietly from behind him and then opened his eyes, watching as the reddened leaves fell from a nearby tree onto the wet pavement.

“Do you ever think about her?”

The question caught Sherlock off guard. “Sorry?”

“Eurus, your sister. She gave you that violin, didn’t she? Do you ever think about her when you play it?”

_Sentiment._

He turned around and set the violin down on its stand before looking at John. “Sometimes,” he answered honestly. It was getting gradually more difficult to lie to John nowadays.

The ex-soldier seemed satisfied with his answer and dropped the subject only to begin another one.

“How’s your day going, then?”

Sherlock scoffed before scratching his temple and sitting down to look at emails. “Please, John. You know me better than that. Can we cease with these annoying pleasantries? You know exactly how my day is going. You only popped out to run a few errands.”

John walked over to him and looked down at him in surprise and perhaps even a bit of annoyance himself.

“A few errands? I talked to you this morning around six o’ clock, and went to work. It’s nearly five now. I’ve been gone all day!”

Sherlock gave a quick, dismissive wave with his hand before sighing. “Apologies, John. I’ve been busy keeping myself distracted, as it were.”

 “You say that as if it’s my fault you need to keep yourself distracted,” John noted before ran a hand through his hair tiredly.

Sherlock glanced up. “Isn’t it?” He asked, as if the answer were so insanely obvious that it was exasperating he had to explain it to John. “You did give me the ultimatum.”

“That’s true enough, but you chose. Granted, you chose poorly the first time, but… I’d say it’s a good thing I gave you a second chance to choose correctly.”

Sherlock sniffed before clearing his throat, but not before letting his jaw clench momentarily for the briefest of seconds before relaxing again.

Fear.

Fear was an evolutionary trait humans had developed for survival, but in Sherlock’s opinion, he believed fear should be considered the true chemical defect.

It gave people away, their true emotions they wanted to hide from others. It was the tell-all in court rooms by juries, and suspects in questioning rooms. Fear gave way to defensiveness when spouses accused each other of cheating.

It was an evolutionary trait that doubled as a chemical flaw, and Sherlock very rarely experienced fear, or at least that’s what he needed others to believe.

“I also bought a few bags of sweets as well,” John informed him, changing the subject once again.

“Sweets?” Sherlock asked in utter confusion. “What for?”

John waited a beat, looking at him. After a few moments, Sherlock realized that John was waiting for him to realize what he was talking about. When realization didn’t come to him, John sighed in disappointment and disbelief.

“It’s October 31st, Sherlock.”

“Yes, it is,” the detective nodded, shaking his head in frustration. “I don’t understand, John. What is it I’m supposed to be remembering here? I’m assuming that it’s a meaningless event.”

John let out a humorless laugh now. “Oh bloody hell! It’s Halloween, Sherlock!”

Sherlock cringed and groaned. “So I was right; it is a pointless event.” He went back to typing his email again.

John shook his head and sat down next to him. He didn’t appear genuinely angry with the detective, so that was at least a good sign. He was quiet for a while before he spoke again. “I told Molly Hooper we’d go over to her flat tonight.”

Sherlock scrunched his eyebrows. “What for, John?”

“She’s having a party and invited our mates.”

“Like who?”

John rubbed his temples in an attempt to find patience. “Like Greg.”

“ _Who?_ ”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Sherlock… Lestrade! Greg Lestrade, you work with the man. I can’t believe after all these years, you still can’t remember his name.”

“Names are meaningless, John,” Sherlock explained calmly. “I have to choose what to keep in my Mind Palace and what to shut out. Names are at the bottom of the priority list. Dates, events, years, mathematical equations… those things are of the upmost importance.”

John sighed again but continued. “I already told her we’d be there.”

“Well that was rather silly, John. Why on earth did you tell her that? I have important work to get done. I can’t be bothered with… a party.”

“Please, Sherlock,” John tried now, leaning forward and placing a hand on Sherlock’s arm gently. “Do this for me? We don’t have to stay too long.”

Sherlock paused his typing and considered this.

“How long?”

“An hour, and… then I’ll make up an excuse for us to leave,” John bargained.

Sherlock’s lips curved upwards into a slight smirk and he looked at his partner. “That’s not very honest of you, John Watson.”

John seemed to relax now and smiled, a gleam in his eyes. “You bring out the worst in me, what can I say?” He joked.

Sherlock found himself smiling now before he thought for a beat. “Do we have to bring… presents or anything with us?”

John raised his eyebrows. “Presents… to a Halloween party? Are you serious, Sherlock? No, we don’t.”

“Oh good.”

“But,” John smirked now. “We need to dress up.”

“Absolutely not, John. I only dress up in disguise, never voluntarily,” Sherlock replied instantly.

John moved his hand down Sherlock’s arm down to his hand and gently caressed it affectionately. “For me?”

“That doesn’t work twice in a row, John.”

“Everyone else will be dressed up too. How about this? You do this for me this evening and… we can take it off together when we get back home.”

“Well obviously, I assumed we would take our costumes off anyway…”

John leaned forward and looked into Sherlock’s eyes suggestively. “We can take. Our costumes. Off together,” he said slowly.

“Oh just say what you mean, John! You know I don’t understand these mind games you play…”

“Oh my god! We can have sex when we bloody get home! Okay, Sherlock?” John sighed impatiently but was smiling.

“Oh,” Sherlock replied, quiet for a long time. “Well, when you put it like that, what are we waiting for?”

Sherlock wasn’t sure what his sexual orientation was before meeting John. He never felt the primal urge before, nor even thought about it. It had only been recently when his body began reacting oddly whenever John grazed his hand with his own when stirring tea, or if John placed his hand on Sherlock’s back to steady him. His body had only recently began to have a mind of its own around the other man, reacting in ways Sherlock wasn’t used to.

 When he told John about these new discoveries, the doctor seemed relieved and he had told Sherlock that he also felt these things towards him as well. The feelings had been mutual, and then Sherlock realized what it meant, all these tiny things put together and the reasons he never felt any attraction to anyone of the female persuasion.

He was homosexual, obviously, attracted to a person of the same gender.

It made sense biologically. Before, he had no sexual urges but now that the two men had talked things out, discussed everything possible, Sherlock’s body seemed intent on joining with John’s. He had suggested an experiment to make sure his hypothesis was indeed correct, and at first, John outright objected to the proposal.

He had said that sex shouldn’t be so scientific, but he eventually agreed to it. And the two copulated for the first time.

And to Sherlock’s (half) surprise, it had been _euphoric._ True, the euphoria only came from a combination of dopamine, serotonin, norepinephrine, testosterone, and oxytocin, but it was still one of the greatest pleasures Sherlock had experienced without the aid of hard drugs.

Since that first time, a switch had been flicked on inside of him, and he wanted to feel that sensation multiple times over.

“Well, I suppose bribery is successful, after all,” Sherlock gently shut the lid of his laptop and pushed it back before he stood up. “May I choose our costumes?”

John looked hesitant at first but then nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Of course he did live to regret his decision; through the use of Sherlock’s costumed disguised clothing, Sherlock had dressed him up in what he assumed was 19th century clothing, and parted his hair in the middle before fluffing out the white button down shirt.

“Excellent.”

John looked confused. “I’m sorry, who am I?”

Sherlock looked almost affronted. “You’re Lord Alfred Douglas, the poet, of course.”

John nodded once and looked at Sherlock’s costume down, scratching his head as his partner who also had a part in the middle of his nearly shoulder length hair, along with a navy velvet coat, brown trousers, a yellow and brown tie, stockings and leather shoes on. “Right, and you are?”

Sherlock looked irritated now. “Oscar Wilde. Honestly, John… isn’t it obvious?”

“Mmm…. Err… no, not really. Wait a minute – Oscar Wilde and Lord Alfred Douglas? Weren’t they both…” he trailed off in thought.

“Poets? Yes, John. They were.”

“Ahh, actually I was going to say… gay, but yeah, poets work too. Did you really not dress us up as one the most popular gay couples in European history on purpose?” John asked, surprised.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes in analytical thought before he shook his head. “No, actually. I did not. I didn’t even know they were… that way. Well, shouldn’t we be off now? We don’t want to be late.”

John looked both bewildered and amused at his partner’s thinking but he nodded. “Sure thing, let’s go grab a cab.”

 

**.   .   .   .   .   .    .**

“John! Sherlock! So glad you two could come!” exclaimed an excited and nervous looking Molly Hooper once they had entered her flat.

She leaned down slightly to give John a small, quick hug, and then looked befuddled at what to do with Sherlock, settling with a shy wave.

Sherlock nodded once awkwardly, hating these social gatherings. Too much was expected from people. At least there were libations. He grabbed a glass of wine and took a long drink before he inspected Molly’s costume.

“Let me guess, a sexually suggestive mortician?”

“Sherlock,” John warned under his breath.

She laughed nervously and shook her head. “Um, actually, no… I… I just wanted to wear this dress and a bit of makeup.”

“Oh, right. Well, apologies. You went for the irony factor then, I see. It’s your own party and you decided not to even dress up for it.”

She appeared to grow smaller in appearance, taking a long drink of her own wine out of anxiety before smiling weakly. “Well, thanks for coming anyway, you two. Excuse me.”

When she had walked away, John moved closer and looked at him pointedly. “Really? You’re going to do this here?”

“Please, John… there really isn’t any need to do an impression of my mother. I just wanted to make sure I understood what the point of her dressing was, that’s all.”

“You embarrassed her, Sherlock…”

The detective set the glass down on a nearby table before looking at John again, smirking. “Did I? Well, I didn’t mean to offend her. I was genuinely asking a question that required an answer. At least she didn’t comment on our costume. That would have been the prime example of embarrassing, at least for you. I don’t get embarrassed.”

“Right, almost forgot. You’re a machine. A robot. You don’t have feelings,” John replied, his voice laced with coldness.

Sherlock was about to say something when he saw a familiar face walking over to them dressed in what passed for a vampire costume these days.

“Sherlock, you came! Good to see both of you here,” Lestrade greeted, grinning to show off his fake teeth before he took them out. “Still had this one around from last year’s Scotland Yard Halloween party.”

“A vampire?” Sherlock questioned, scoffing. “Please, Nosferatu would be appalled.”

Greg looked at Sherlock, taken back.

“Excuse him, Greg… he doesn’t enjoy these things, you know better than anyone,” John apologized.

“Right, well… what are you two supposed to be anyway?”

Sherlock sighed, exasperatedly.

“If we have to explain it to you, Lestrade, then it means you obviously need to get more culture. Try reading some poetry.”

Lestrade looked over at John.

“Lord Alfred Douglas and Oscar Wilde,” John answered for him, smiling almost apologetically. “Sherlock’s come down with a bit of a nasty cold actually, so… I think I’m just going to take him back home.”

Lestrade nodded, not convinced by the lie, but seemed to be glad to get Sherlock out of his hair.  “Right, well… feel better, mate.”

“Oh, I will, Lestrade.” Sherlock nearly skipped out of the flat.

John followed him close behind but didn’t say anything to him until they got back to 221B Baker St and into their flat. As soon as closed the door, he turned on Sherlock.

“What is your problem? I rarely ask you to do anything for me, Sherlock! It’s a holiday that most of us enjoy and you’d rather spend it here at home, writing emails to potential clients! I bribed you with sex and still you behave like a little kid who’s tired and wants to go home!”

Sherlock took off his tie before looking over at John, mentally analyzing his body language.

Shoulders tense, jaw clenched. Hands unconsciously turned into fists, voice inflection elevated slightly, creased forehead.

Anger. Frustration.

Sherlock was no stranger to others looking this way whenever he talked to them. He experienced this more often than not with new clients as well as his ex-guardian and co-worker, Lestrade.

He didn’t want John to feel this way with him, however.

He cared very deeply for him. Sherlock walked over to John and cleared his throat before he forced himself to swallow down his self-righteousness. “I… I apologize, John. I’m… not accustomed to parties and get togethers. I’m not good at social gatherings, obviously. My behavior was unacceptable and I am truly sorry, John.”

He wet his lips, uncomfortable at having to apologize for social expectations he didn’t understand completely in the first place. He knew it was the right way to make things okay with John though, and that was the important task at hand.

The detective nodded and sighed softly, looking pleased with the apology.

“Thank you, Sherlock. I accept your apology…. Tea?”

Sherlock nodded once. “Yes, please.” He walked over to John as he filled the kettle with water and set it on the electric stove before turning it on.

He smirked, watching him. “You know, Lord Douglas, I must say… you look exceedingly handsome in that outfit you’re wearing.”

John chuckled slightly before he smiled, looking up at Sherlock with a playful look. He took his hand in his own.

“Why, thank you, Mr. Wilde. You also look very dashing in your own garments. I haven’t ever met anyone quite like you before, in fact,” John played along. “That coat you’re wearing really does something for me, to be honest.”

Sherlock smiled and started to untie John’s own tie he was wearing. “Well, if you think I look handsome in it, then wait until you see me out of it.”

John laughed before he shut the stove off and turned his full attention to Sherlock. “Is that a fact? Well, maybe we should test this hypothesis of yours that you’ve laid out. I hope you don’t mind if we’re thorough about it, however.”

Sherlock gently grabbed the loosened tie around John’s neck and pulled him towards the bedroom.

“We can be as thorough as we need to be, doctor.”

Sherlock felt his insecurities and misgivings fall away as the two men enveloped each other, letting their tongues crash together in an ebb and flow, a battle of passion. He let his fingers gently caress John’s spine, playing his fingers against his skin as he had done earlier with the violin, feeling the excitement build up inside of him at the anticipation of the beautiful music their bodies were going to make.


End file.
